The Wonders of Youth
by AranelMaethlang
Summary: Somethings just make you want to skip through growing up-- especially Arana's hard life living with her nosey mother and a league of young suitors.


Afternoon's pleasing light allotted the perfect time for him to write his vivacious stories, ranging from that cute lass next door to wild adventures out in the wild. The hill was the perfect place to sit in Hobbiton, being quite peaceful and scenic. It was also relatively far from his home, which was an issue since his parents objected to his writing, for only a reason they knew.  
  
His cruel little sister had gotten into his box that he hid under his lamp stand, laughing at the story where he was an elven warrior, slaying dragons and evil things at every turn. Surely she told the one he had a crush on, and in turn made him blush brighter than the color of his father's beat red under shirt. Knowing his sister, she messed up his language and made him sound thoroughly ignorant and someone to avoid.  
  
Luckily he only let it stop him for a short amount of time, and before long he continued on with his poems and stories, shaping them into exactly what he wanted to. The only person he wanted to see the hard work he put into them was Arana Pullodock, the most beautiful girl he knew. Obviously she wanted nothing to do with him, but that didn't stop him from impressing her at the opportune moments. He had even gone through the trouble of writing her poems, but she tore them in pieces disgustedly and walked away.  
  
At least he had given some effort into it, instead of the other young men just giving her flowers and saying she was "prettier than a rose, and her hair more brown than the dirt." He still couldn't figure out why she cast him away, and he was determined to find out.  
  
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
Arana looked hurriedly about for a place to hide from the little mob of young men, with them trying to show her how good they could sing or their fluency in gibberish. She was sick of being gaped at by everyone ever since they found out she was a relative to a very well endowed hobbit down the lane. Why couldn't someone dare to like her for who she was?  
  
Slamming the door behind her, she was greeted by her mother Petunia, who looked at her rather curiously.  
  
"Another mob, my dear?" she asked her worn daughter, smiling as she stirred the hot stew on the stove, but with a hint of recognition.  
  
Sniffing the pleasing aroma made her forget everything. "Oh, that. Why yes, of course."  
  
She collapsed on the couch in her front room, but not getting comfortable until she adjusted her dress to present herself in a modest manner. A good spank would be dealt if she looked improper.  
  
Petunia smiled at her daughter, dishing out the stew's contents into a small bowl and handed it to her. The gray in her daughter's eyes lit up significantly at the sight of the meal. She loved food and couldn't hide the fact, taking every opening that was presented to eat. But being a bad cook herself made her dependent on her mother.  
  
"How are you, Arana?"  
  
Too busy eating to care; she nodded her head in dismissal of the matter.  
  
"Arana, you worry me. Yesterday I heard a rumor that you pushed a young man down the hill, and he almost broke his back!" Arana's eyes got bigger, fearing retribution but hiding it cleverly. "I undoubtedly dismissed it as an ugly lie. Is this true? Did you push that young man down?"  
  
Rolling her eyes, she handed the bowl back to her mother and went to her door. Her mother's ripping gaze made her feel like a child again, and her gaze was downcast.  
  
"I can't believe this. first you slap one, then the next you're breaking lad's backs."  
  
She sighed, finally looking into her mother's eyes. "Anger is a problem with me, you know that. Each one I did this to deserved it. I shouldn't be gaped at just because you-" Stopping short, she recalled quickly that she wasn't allowed to bring that up in their home again.  
  
"Tomorrow you will stay in the house, Arana. No friends, no boyfriend, nothing. There are chores you have neglected to do, and that must change."  
  
She looked ruefully at her mother, head raised in defiance as she slammed the door and flopped down on her bead. Of course she left her self presented immodestly- let her mother protest if she wanted to. 


End file.
